Well, it wasn’t exactly Gent-Wevelgem, and I ain’t exactly Luca Paolini, but it suited me just fine, even if allergies had me feeling distinctly Phlegmish.
Gunk-Wobblegums
Kilometers or miles?
I gave myself a helluva birthday gift today.
Herself had proposed that I piss off to Ten Thousand Waves to leach all the venom out of my 61-year-old carcass while she and her visiting pal Lester terrorized Duke City. But I thought a bike ride might serve the same purpose, and without the need to start the car and drive an hour or so north.
Being a shrunken, feeble shadow of my once mighty self, I thought riding my age in kilometers would be just the thing. Then the ride sort of got away from me and before I knew it I was well on my way to riding 61 miles.
Classify it under, “I knew it was wrong but I did it anyway.” My longest ride this year was a shade over half that, and I had only two bottles and limited grub. But conditions were ideal — 50s at the start, 70s at the finish — and I actually had a cross/head wind out and a cross/tail wind back, which never ever happens.
Plus I finally rode the Paseo del Bosque Trail all the way south until it coils back on itself via Rio Bravo. So I can cross that one off the old bucket list.
On the homebound leg a brisk tail wind pushed me up Spain toward Tramway, and glad of it I was, too, because it’s mostly uphill from the bosque and I was feeling a tad weary for some reason. The torpor of the aged, no doubt. Anyone care to recommend a nice nursing home? One with secure bike parking?
Take me to the bridge
The temptation to pee off one of these things is practically irresistible. Especially on a brisk March morning after two cups of coffee and one of tea.
I had just dropped off the Forester at Reincarnation (timing belt and some other issues) and was cycling back to El Rancho Pendejo when I paused atop Interstate 40 to see what I could see. I felt slightly underdressed for the temperature and less than comfortable on the unfamiliar industrial streets until I connected with Comanche, which leads to the North Diversion Channel Trail, the Bear Arroyo trail, and, eventually, this pedestrian/bicycle bridge.
En route I saw a used hypo in a bike lane, fairly dripping with irony, and way too many F-Whatevers whizzing past at speeds well above the posted limit. That’ll give anyone a nervous bladder, especially if it’s full of caffeinated beverages, so it’s no wonder I felt like letting fly above I-40.
Still, most of the 16-mile ride was on separated bike path, and I even took in a stretch of single-track near the end to take the last vestiges of diesel out of my snoot. All in all, a pretty nice way to start a Monday.
Reveille
Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment) decided to conduct an impromptu drill at 4 a.m. and as a consequence the troops are slightly groggy despite two cups of coffee and one of tea.
That is all. Dis-miss.
Spring has sprung?
This is the first day of spring? So where’s the sun?
Frankly, I’m stumped.
(Rimshot.)
And yes, I know, nobody in his right mind living in a desert climate complains about rain. But right mind and I have not shared the same ZIP code for the better part of quite some time. And I have bicycles that are badly in need of riding.
The good news is, after today and tonight we’re looking at a stretch of sunny and 70s. The better news? We don’t live in New York City.
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